Sweet Obsessions
by FrankandJoe3
Summary: Dick always knew he had an obsession, but how far can a single obsession go?
1. Chapter 1

**Last night, I dreamt that someone murdered by parents and hung them on wires on my front porch and rang the doorbell. I opened the door, saw their bodies and screamed. I sobbed. I shot their bodies down… It was horrible.**

It was all calm in the manor. Bruce sat in his study in his big maroon chair, curled up beside the fire, reading some big book with tiny print in the dim light. Alfred was going about the house, dithering casually about, keeping himself busy. Richard sat in the kitchen where he was supposed to be working on his homework but was really drawing a stick figure war all over his Pre-Algebra, his tongue poking between his lips in thought. So basically, today was just a normal Wednesday, the start of the WTF on the calendar.

Richard's homework was finished as it lay on the counter, being tortured by the barrage of lead that killed the edges of the once clean paper. Captain Fat Leg ordered his troops of the Big Heads across enemy lines to take down the evil Dr. Algebraic and his army of Problems who held with them boomerangs **[1] **and ninja stars **[2] **and advanced technology that had already defeated Lieutenant Wavy Back's troop of Midget Legs. Dead bodies littered the battle field, many missing legs and heads scattered about the lands of the Word Problems. **[3]**

A smirk spread over Richard's lips as he drew one stick figure holding the other, who was messing half his legs. 'Tell my wife and kids… I loved them' he had the dying one say, and the other one had tears rolling from where he probably would've had eyes. Sure, it was sadistic, but it was what he wanted to draw and he was bored anyway, so what did it matter? As long as he got good grades, Bruce was usually quite satisfied with his homework. His hand froze in mid 'loved' as he heard a teasing 'tsk'.

"Master Richard, I'm not sure that your math teacher would appreciate your little battle there…" Alfred noted, observing the bloody lead battle field with amusement.

Richard's smirk widened.

"You think I care what she has to say about my battlefield? Captain Fat Leg's troops must take down Dr. Algebraic before he conquers the minds of all innocent children!" Richard replied excitedly, finishing the m in them.

"Captain Fat Leg?" Alfred questioned.

Richard pointed to a man at the back of the charging troop who had one leg that had a bigger accent then the other. Alfred chuckled.

"Aw, good job Master Richard. Such imagination!"

Richard shrugged, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"Thanks Alfred, but this is nothing. You should see my other homework!"

Alfred nodded.

"Possibly some other time Richard. I can see your busy trying to destroy Dr. Algebraic. If you need me, I'll be upstairs attending to the laundry."

Alfred dismissed himself with a curt bow and stole out of the room to work on the avalanche of dirty clothes and torn outfits that he'd have to repatch. Richard really didn't care though. He was just waiting for it to be nine o'clock so he could hide upstairs and watch the few episodes of South Park that he had recorded from the previous night. It was only 8:30 though, and Bruce made sure that Robin worked two hours on all of his homework. So basically, he had 30 minutes of doodling left unless he snuck upstairs and got his sketch pad, but he didn't want to risk it.

He randomly drew a small monocle for Dr. Algebraic and gave him a large fanged grin, showing that the evil mastermind had no penitence for all the lives lost. He tapped his pencil against his lip as he stared at the blank face of Captain Fat Leg.

"What expression do you have Captain? Are you angry? How about possessed? Does Dr. Algebraic have a soul sucking device in use on you? Is he controlling your mind?" Richard mumbled to himself, tapping some nonexistence beat on his bottom lip.

Finally, he decided that he'd give the Captain swirls for eyes and a drooling upside-down grin with a small shadow of a stick figure standing behind him. It looked a little weird though, so Richard sketched a 'soul possessor 2000' behind Dr. Algebraic and making him laugh maniacally. The other soldiers looked more like minions being taken over too, so they were given little army hats and machetes. A grin came to Richard's face as he finally finished the doodle. Then he dared a glance at the clock. 8:45.

"Damnit," Richard groaned, setting his head in his hands.

He was bored. There was nowhere left to draw on his paper. He rested his head in his hands, grumbling incoherently for a minute or two. Suddenly, his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with fear. He heard a sound that he hadn't heard in all four years of his time living with Bruce: the doorbell. That's how he knew something was wrong. The only people that knew the code to the gate to get into the manor yard were in the house at that moment.

Richard swiftly got to his feet and dashed across the kitchen, opening the drawer to the right of the refrigerator, reaching beneath the space of the drawer and the cabinet bottom, grasping the familiar grip in his hands. Then he dashed forward across the kitchen floor to the front door, casually peeking through the window. He definitely saw the outline of a person. He swiftly closed the curtain and glanced to his right, relieved to see Bruce there, a pistol in his own hands, worry in his expression. Their eyes met for a second, the same idea registering in both heads.

Richard backed up to the foot of the stairs as Bruce's hand tightened around the door handle.

"One," he mouthed.

Richard rose the gun calmly, using both hands to hold it securely.

"Two."

The onyx haired boy's arms locked carefully and a finger snaked around the trigger. The doorbell rang again impatiently, but neither of the two made a move to go any faster.

"Three…" Bruce waited until Richard had released the safety of the gun before he ripped the door open.

When Richard saw who was on his door step, he started to shooting. Bruce stepped back so he could see too, but by the time he moved, Richard had stopped firing.

"He's getting away!" the blue eyed babe cried, tearing off into the night as fast as his feet could run.

Bruce rose an eyebrow, but before he could call out, Richard was gone too. He heard feet on the staircase and turned to see Alfred.

"Sir, I heard gun shots! Is everything alright?" the butler asked, concern coating his voice.

Bruce said nothing.

"Stay here; I'll be back," Bruce excused himself quickly, tearing out after Richard, worriedly.

"B-But Master Bruce!" Alfred called after him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

He ran a hand over his balding head, frowning and fretting with worry.

"Oh! Do you suppose Master Richard's okay? What was that gun shot?" Alfred shook his head and gently closed the door, walking into the kitchen.

He tried not to fret to hard as he turned his attention to the homework abandoned on the table. Looking at the product of Richard's imagination, a simple smirk came to his lips. It was adorable, especially "Dr. Algebraic" and his cute little monocle. Captain Fat Leg's soul was adorable as it stood behind him, trying to stop the fight. This was definitely something Richard would think of. Maybe he'd take up the offer on seeing the rest of his practical grandson's drawings.

XxXxX

Richard knew that the face he had seen shouldn't have been there. No, it belonged in Arkham or a prison somewhere, not on what was almost _his _front porch. There had better be a pretty damn good reason that he was chasing after an asshole that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place with a pistol in his hand through the darkness.

"Hey! You! Stop!" he cried angrily.

The figure hesitated for a moment, but they kept running. With an angry growl, Richard stopped and fired a few more shots at the outline. The outline staggered and stopped for a moment, pulling something from his pocket. Before Richard could register it, a sharp pain tore through his shoulder. A cry involuntarily spilled from his lips.

"Richard!" he heard Bruce's cry tear across the yard.

Richard looked after the outline, frowning angrily. He picked up the gun again and just kept firing until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He heard footsteps behind him and strong arms wrap worriedly around him.

"Richard!" the familiar voice rang in his ears.

"B-B…" his tongue felt heavy and foreign in his mouth.

He was aware that he was being picked up, but he couldn't see anyway so it didn't matter.

"Just hang out a bit longer Richard! We're going for help," Bruce assured him, his voice sounding so distant.

Richard felt like he was on laughing gas. The world disappeared around him until it was just a black empty void that was still bright at the same time. It vibrated around him and he felt like he was falling deeper and deeper into the darkness. Bruce's voice became a dull hum in his ear until there was nothing left. Before Richard lost consciousness, only one thought flashed through his mind. That man he had seen on what was almost his doorstep; the man he had chased through the woods; the man that had shot him with whatever gave him the happy gas symptoms was none other than Tony Zucco.

**[1] The square root sign.**

**[2] Multiply signs and the x's for the… er… the think you gotta figure out? I dunno what it's called. Like, 5x + 42y = 16y -2x +4. The x's in there I guess. **

**[3] Yup, that's translation for a bunch of stick figures attacking the problems on the homework. Don't you love it? **

**Are there any bad guys in the DC Comic or Marvel world that can shrink things? This is super important! SERIOUSLY! And should I continue this or what? And should I start titling my chapters or what?**

**-F.J.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm surprised people actually liked this. This is ****kind of**** based off of 'Haunted', an episode of Teen Titans. I edited it though, and instead of Slade, we get Zucco. And no girl left sobbing in the rain. Maybe a certain redhead, but no Starfire. **

Bruce sighed softly, setting his large hand over the small and delicate fingers of his ward. He didn't hold the boy's hand. He just protected it.

"How long until we know he's okay?" he asked, his voice a tad bit more gravelly than usual.

The doctor before him pushed up his glasses higher on his nose.

"Well sir, it'll take 3 more hours or so for the toxicology screen to come in, and until we know what attacked him, we can't prescribe anything or do any surgeries of a sort. And even when we do know, we have to wait for him to wake up. We need to ask him a few questions," the doctor said, his balding head gleaming in the buzzing light.

Bruce said nothing for a second, either gathering the strength to speak or fighting the urge to shove a batarang up the man's ass for a response like that. When he spoke, it was obvious that he hesitated for the second reason.

"You have nothing to question," Bruce seethed, "We were chasing after an intruder and he got shot with a dart. What other questions could you have?"

His eyes scanned over his ward slowly. Richard's black hair was messy and unfit, just the way that he had always liked it. His eyelids were closed delicately, his blue eyes disco-dancing teasingly beneath them. His lips were still, not a ghost of anything to them. His chest rise and fell a bit too slowly for the Caped Crusader's liking, but the heart monitor showed that he was well alive, but his breathing rate showed that he wasn't waking up any time soon. Bruce forced his fingers around the boy's pale hand, holding it cautiously while leaving his right hand free to shoot the doctor or any intruder that might come in to even attempt to injure his ward.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm not your enemy here. It's just, his file says he's your ward and I figured you wouldn't know all that much about hi-…"

"You figured wrong," Bruce cut him off, swallowing hard. "What do you need to know to save him?"

The doctor pulled up a chart, looking down over his glasses, reading for a moment.

"Any allergies?" he inquired, pulling a pen from his pocket and poising it on the paper.

"Peanuts and barbituric acid," Bruce said calmly without batting an eyelid.

The doctor flinched. "Barbituric acid?"

Bruce nodded, sighing in irritance. "Yes, barbituric acid. Not too long ago, it was used in mild sedation and anesthetics."

The doctor suspiciously nodded. "Alright um… has he had any illnesses lately?"

Bruce thought hard for a moment.

"He caught a small little cold six months ago, but it was just a little cold. He had nothing more than a fever of 100 and a runny nose," he decided.

The doctor jotted that down swiftly, his eyes scanning.

"Has he been taking any medications lately?"

Bruce nodded off the bat before stopping to think of all the names.

"Ibuprofen, Tylenol… a couple different brands of sleeping pills like Benadryl and Nytol and Sominex... and he's been using Skinner's, but other than that, nothing," Bruce decided.

The doctor jotted that down.

"Your boy been having trouble sleeping lately I'm assuming?" the doctor inquired.

"Yeah," Bruce said, "He's been complaining of night terrors and he says that he'll wake up halfway across the room, so I suspect he sleepwalks or sleeprolls."

The doctor's pen flew across the page before he looked up again. "And for the pain medications?"

Bruce knew better than to reveal the truth to a doctor about his ward's identity, which made him so glad that Richard had some hobbies outside of fighting and busting the baddies.

"He's a gymnast. He falls and sprains and gets cut up every other day," Bruce lied with ease.

The doctor had a look of doubt in his eyes though. "But sir, according to his file, he's been in the hospital 246 times _this year alone_. That's more than gymnastics accidents."

Bruce nodded. There was an explanation to that he could share that wouldn't reveal anything that the doctor didn't know already.

"He's the son of a multimillionaire. There are a lot of people out to get him and when he gets kidnapped, doctors like you misdiagnose him and I have to keep bringing him back until a doctor who knows what they're doing takes a look at him, and after that, I have to continually bring him back for check-ups," Bruce explained.

The doctor still didn't look satisfied. Bruce clenched his right hand into a fist, keeping his left one calm as to not hurt Richard as he slept.

"What? Do you think he cuts himself because he's unhappy living with me? He hasn't touched his skin with a blade in three years and he hasn't taken 'happy pills' for three and a half years! And those weren't my fault! His parents were _murdered _four years ago! How else do you think he dealt with that? But it was never serious enough for him to go to a hospital!" Bruce thundered at the doubt, causing the doctor to flinch in fear.

The balding man backed up to the door.

"I-I'm going to go wait on the toxicology. If you need anything, just press that little button behind you," he instructed, causing Bruce's hate filled eyes to dart from the doctor to the emergency button.

When his eyes darted back, the doctor was gone and that room's door was slowly closing. Bruce sighed in relief at the near empty room, turning back to Richard.

"I never meant this to happen," he mumbled to himself, realizing how stupid it sounded.

How was he supposed to know that some guy would come to his house and shoot something that would put the boy he eventually planned to adopt into the hospital? From the sounds of it, Richard had landed a few good shots into the attacker, but nothing sounded fatal. Besides, he had searched the woods around his house. There was no body, so unless the light footed zombies from the videogame that Richard had pleaded for were real, the man had survived. But weird enough, there was no blood. That slightly peaked Bruce's interest.

"I… I don't really know what to say," he admitted to deaf ears. "I would've shot after the bastard myself if I had gotten to the door first, but I… I was stupid. But we can't regret the past. It's over and done. Let's just hope the asshole who stabbed you didn't honor his life. And if he did, he better live it up while he can before I kill him."

Bruce tensed up as he saw a small smile creep onto Richard's lips, no matter how little it stayed. Richard's fingers tightened around his, but Bruce couldn't tell if the peaceful boy was returning the affection or if his hands were balling into fists from the dream he was having, but he pretended it was the first option because that thought made him feel better.

"I'll make that sick son of a bitch pay for this," Bruce promised, his eyes cold with murder.

He stopped though when he heard Richard's heart rate triple in speed, going way too fast for even the Boy Wonder. Richard's head turned so he was facing Bruce, but his eyes weren't open. In fact, they were screwed up tight and his throat looked constricted. Bruce could see every vain that ran through it. Richard gasped for hair, his face getting bluer by the second. The raspier his gasps became, the more blood Bruce saw began to fly to Richard's lips, spurting out. It didn't take much encouragement for Bruce to turn around and smack the emergency button as fast as fast as his hand could go. His eyes flew to the door and he prayed with all the might he had in his heart, that someone would make it in time.

**Okay, quick question, you guys good with yaoi? Can I pair little Robby with KF, or will you guys get a hair up your ass on the matter? (no offense if you are homophobic, I'm required to ask). Last time I randomly threw some yaoi in a story, I got several boots shoved down my throat on the matter and I don't want that again. I'll take the most popular answer I guess. So, if you don't want yaoi but want to know what Zucco's doing out of Arkham, or wherever he is, tell me. If you don't care, tell me. If you want to yell at me for supporting homosexuals, go get a tick up your sensitives. If you're okay with it, well, good for you. Have a muffin.**

**So, read and review?**

**-F.J. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Damn, the internet hates me. Well, sorry this is kind of late. I don't give a f*ck though. I'm tired. So why am I typing? Because I still have 7 South Parks to watch. So, if you don't like this, screw yourself with a rubber dildo. I bet you'd like that. No, I take that back. Go get a hot guy from somewhere. I bet he'd be nice. Make sure he has a good muscular frame, a cute face and an adorable laugh. The laugh makes the man, especially if that man is my 3****rd**** cousin, Johnny. Yum. And to the homophobes: prepare to squirm. **

**Disclaimer: According to the dumb rules of my state, I'm nothing but property so legally by law, I can't own anything, even if I want to. Stupid state laws. I'll kill you. **

Wally adjusted the headphones over his ears, Hollywood Undead blaring in his ears. Four of his best pillows were piled up against the wall, one on top of each other, holding him up. He had his legs together, his left foot crossed over his right, his laptop on his lap. He was on facebook, not really reading it but not just leaving the window open pointlessly. He was mostly just glancing over status updates, searching for a few interesting looking words.

"_And now I pray to a nation destroyed under God_," Wally lip sync unconsciously, his eyes wandering to the cell phone that sat idly by his side.

He picked it up and slid it open, glancing over the wallpaper with a smile on his lips. The picture was old, at least a year, but it was perfect just the same. It was just of Dick with an annoyed look on his face, flipping off the camera. A teasing smile played over the ginger's lips before he shut the cell phone again.

_Dicky hasn't texted me… Bats probably has him scrubbing the Batmobile with his socks or something. I'm sure he'll text me later… _he didn't think too hard on it.

He didn't see a reason for that though. Robin and Dick alike could take care of themselves. They didn't need him worrying for them, nor did they need a million concerned texts from him asking if he was okay. He was only at 10 unanswered texts by now though, plenty away from a million, so he was sure Dick wouldn't mind a couple more. He picked up his phone out of paranoia and went to Dick's name in his contact list.

**Hey dude, getting worried. Everything okay? **

The message sent successfully and Wally's phone dropped down beside his jeans again. He cracked his neck swiftly before turning his eyes back to the laptop screen.

XxXxX

Richard's eyes darted beneath his lids, his eyebrows turned down heavily. His lips moved fast, the doctors in the room only catching phrases. The sounds came out in awkward choky gasps, mostly because he had a breathing tube down his throat, forcing air into his lungs. But that didn't stop him from talking. The IV in his arm ensured he wouldn't wake up for a little while, but that didn't stop him from dreaming, and by God, he dreamed.

"Ehh," he wheezed, the back of his throat sounding like a hollow tube. "S… S… Zucco... Ah… Ah… I'm… geh… going… t-t-to… kill… y- eh… ooh."

A pale hand lifted the black hair gingerly from his forehead, feeling his forehead cautiously. He didn't react to the touch in the least. He just choked a bit on the tube in his throat for a second before he settled back down and fell still.

"Richard, can you hear me?" a voice asked, falling on deaf ears.

He didn't even get a twitch. A hand roamed over his, carefully avoiding the needle wound from the IV. The warmth didn't draw a reaction of any sort. Another unsettling silence fell over the room, but Richard was oblivious. In his head, he was in a dark room, killing Anthony Zucco in the slowest and most painful possible ways, laughing maniacally at the screams he drew from the gang leader's lips and the proof that his method was torturous.

"Yeh… Yehh… You….keh… killed… them… Sss… sssoo… Yehh… muh… mmm… d-d… deh… die…" Richard rasped, coughing furiously at the tube clogging his throat.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently, trying to wake him without harming him. But eventually, the hand just stopped. Not that it mattered; Richard was in the closest thing he could be to a coma without actually _being_ in a coma.

"What made him… like… this?" Bruce asked, his eyes carefully falling over the once again peaceful being before him.

The doctor in the room shrugged, shaking her head slowly, her black hair swaying with her.

"He wasn't allergic to the stuff in his IV; he's not allergic to the stitches in his chest… We checked the substances in the dart that tore through his shoulder and he's not allergic to anything in that. The combination of the chemicals on the dart together does nothing more than induce sleep. I'm sure he'll wake up as soon as we take the IV out."

"Then take it out!" Bruce demanded.

The doctor calmly shook her head, not intimidated by the anger in his voice or the power at his fingertips.

"If we do that, we could risk countless things, like possibly induce a coma or fracture something eternally or even kill him," she kept her voice steady despite the seriousness of what she was saying.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "It's not August 3rd yet, but for some reason, I'm under the impression that you're a newbie** [1]**. Taking out his IV or just stopping the fluid will let him wake up. Taking out the tube from his lungs may or may not affect his breathing. We won't know until you do something about the IV."

The girl's eyes narrowed.

"Sir, I'm the doctor here," she reminded him.

"And yet I know this better than you? The hospital must have lowered its standards," Bruce smirked to himself.

The girl gasped, obviously offended. She then exhaled sharply through her nose and tossed her hair back with her hand. She grumbled mostly to herself before walking to Richard's other side where the IV sat, not far from Bruce. She took the IV bag off its hook and unplugged it, running off and soon coming back with a simple bag of water. She hung that up and plugged it back in. Almost immediately, Richard's sleep lightened and his eyes scrunched up tight.

"Yeh… yeh… ooh… Kuh… Uht… their… ruh… Wires… S-so… Ah… I'm go… goin… guh… t-t-ta… k-k… cut… yeh-oh… ruhs," Richard gasped madly, clawing blindly at his throat.

His blue eyes snapped open and his gasping got wilder as he struggled to breath with the tube shoved down his throat. The doctor tried not to panic herself as she pulled the tube from Richard's throat in a fast and careful way. But even after the tube was gone, the ebony continued gasping and clawing at his throat, desperate for air. The girl still stayed calm though. She pulled out an air pump from who knows where and pressed the mask over the bridge of nose and his lips. She began to slowly pump the bubble like sphere at the end of the air mask, carefully feeding the air into the gasping blue lips.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Richard's hands dropped from his red streaked neck and his chest rose and fell in a regular pattern. The doctor kept the mask in the folds of the pale face, but she set Richard's hand to the pump. He continued squeezing it in a regular pattern before his blue eyes weakly turned from the doctor to Bruce. He opened his lips to speak, but coughs bubbled up and took over his words. It took a little over a minute before he could talk again. He swallowed hard.

"B-Bruce…" he choked out. "W-Where… where am I?"

He tensed up as Bruce comfortingly patted his hand. He liked the affection; it was a just a little different though.

"You're at the hospital. Do you remember anything from last night?"

Richard frowned in thought, continuing his deep and steady breaths. He nodded slowly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his head. A migraine: just what he wanted. It must've been that annoying heart monitor.

"Z… I got shot with a… dart… eight inches long, barely one centimeter wide. Shot from… agh… less than 25 feet away," he rambled off, screwing his eyes up.

Bruce blinked in surprise. Usually, Richard had little to no memory of attacks, but now it seemed as if he had been watching the attack outside his body somehow. Or maybe the chemicals gave him a photographic memory. Or maybe he was just making it up to impress Bruce. No matter what way though, he looked sick and weak. Bruce had to advert his eyes for a moment. When he glanced back, he saw how hard Richard was struggling to hold his head up. His face was just barely a shade of white and his lips were slowly fading back to its normal color.

"Did you… did you see who shot you?"

Richard forced himself to nod, his eyelids falling half closed and his neck trembling under the pressure of his head. Bruce gently forced Richard's head back onto the pillow, despite the boy's grunts of protest.

"Richard please, you need to stay still. Now, can you describe them for me?"

Richard attempted to lift the mask from his face before it was ever so rudely shoved back down over his face. He growled from the back of his throat, but he didn't try to remove it again.

"I can," he took a deep and shuddery breath, "do better. I can t-tell you who it is."

Bruce couldn't help but notice Richard was quickening his pace on the pump. He should've been slowing down. He frowned.

"Slow down," he commanded, meeting scared blue eyes.

"Hmm?" he hummed, obviously confused.

His eyebrows furrowed drunkenly. Bruce's strong hand wrapped around the pump, his other hand carefully swatting Richard's pale and shaky hand off of it. He got to his own slow and steady rhythm, ensuring that his ward's breathing would slow.

"If you kept with your pace, you'd be hyperventilating in no time at all. Just slow your breathing until you feel like you're not light headed anymore. Now, who do you think attacked to you?" the gravelly voice sounded just a bit too calm for the 13 year old's comfort.

"Don't think," Richard said, struggling to keep his breathing slow. "I know."

Bruce sighed.

"You've always been the stubborn type," he mumbled. "Alright, who do you _know _attacked you?"

Richard took a breath a bit too fast for his liking that stung his throat a bit, but he shook it off, a hand going to his forehead. He closed his eyes as tight as they'd go.

"N-not so loud," he whispered, the pounding in his head intensifying.

His whisper was muffled, but Bruce understood.

"Sorry," he lowered his voice from a 5 to a 2. **[2] **"Now tell me, who do you 'know' shot you?"

Richard took a deep breath and held it until his lungs began to burn.

"Z…" his voice trailed and he coughed hard, lifting the mask up.

This time, Bruce didn't fight. He let the boy gasp for fresh air for a while until he started looking weak again, by which time had had the breathing mask over his lips.

"Z…" Richard sighed in anger.

The light stung. The heart monitor hurt. The air in the mask tasted like ass.

"D-Darkness," he pleaded, setting his hands over his ears and screwing his eyes up tighter than regular.

Bruce nodded and lightly set the mask down off of the pale lips so his boy could try breathing on his own for a little while. He dashed to the door and flipped off the lights.

"Do you want some Ibuprofen?"

Richard nodded vigorously, worsening his migraine. He moaned in pain. But before Bruce could leave, Richard held his arm out weakly, catching the man's attention.

"Zucco," he choked out, his head craned in the way he assumed Bruce was.

His eyes were closed so tight that he could see a pestering light. The heart monitor was a bigger nuisance though. He had half a mind to grab his utility belt, find the batarang and hack at the cords until there was no sound. He didn't know where his utility belt was. In a second, he was aware of a face in front of his.

"What?" Bruce asked, shock in his voice.

"Z-Zucco," he repeated, taking a cautious breath.

Bruce shook his head. "That's… impossible. Zucco's in Arkham."

"S… so was the Joker," Richard argued. "And he keeps coming back."

One hand flew to his shoulder, a look of disapproval over his lips. His shoulder hurt; a lot. Bruce shook his head.

"It's impossible. I'll be back with the pills."

Bruce walked off again.

"Wait!" Richard called, recoiling at how loud his voice was.

He didn't hear footsteps so he assumed Bruce had stopped. The little lights in the room were still too hard to handle.

"Get my phone?" he pleaded.

A sigh sounded, and in a second, footsteps sounded again before the repetitance of the heart monitor took over the room once more.

**[1] I may have gotten the date wrong, but I'm referring to the day when all the interns are let out of school and join a hospital. I think August 3****rd**** is that day, and if it is, August 3****rd**** is the deadliest day to be in the hospital.**

**[2] I dunno, heard it on South Park. "You're at a 7 right now, and we need you at a 3." I know it means to get quieter, so don't judge me.**

**Alright, that was… interesting… and about 1330 something words too many… but I hope you liked it. I'll keep the bromance to a low level, unless I'm feeling feisty, but it'll be there. Sorry. I'll put a warning if I mention it in the chapter I guess for the homophobes. Anyway, I got the idea from an author I love to read who writes for Kids Next Door. This… shemale (I don't know the gender) answers reviews in the… bold at the beginning of the story. Should I do that? It'd be like:**

_**Sample Username: **_**[insert reply or comment about username or something totally unrelated]. **

**Watcha think? Review~**

"**When you're good to momma, momma's good to you… sometimes."  
>-FrankandJoe3<strong>


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